


Dinner by Candlelight

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley and Spike enjoy a nice dinner out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner by Candlelight

Spike really isn't fond of getting dressed up, so Wesley knows he should be suspicious when the vampire suggests they go to La Coupade on Saturday, but he's too excited about the prospect of a romantic dinner with his lover to care. Besides, it means getting to see Spike in one of the satin button-downs he bought for him, so he figures it's worth whatever price he'll have to pay later.

La Coupade is everything he could've asked for - small, intimate tables with long white linen tablecloths, fine china, crystal and silver, all bathed in the soft glow of the candles that sit in the middle of the table. Spike takes the seat next to him and waves off the menu the waiter attempts to hand him. “We'll share, mate,” he informs him, then scoots closer to Wesley, one hand sliding onto his thigh as the waiter walks away.

Wesley stares unseeingly at the menu in front of him. He's fluent in thirteen languages, but at the moment, French doesn't seem to be one of them. All he can really think about is Spike's hand on his leg under the table, the way his fingers stroke his thigh almost absently, rubbing tiny circles that make him tingle. “Spike, what are you doing?” he hisses softly.

The vampire gives hiim an innocent look, blue eyes wide and guileless. If Wesley hadn't seen that same look aimed at him last night right before he ended up being fucked hard enough to make him scream, he might even believe it. “What? Can't wanna enjoy a nice dinner out? More to life than blood an' mayhem, y'know.”

“Yes, I know. I just wasn't aware that you knew it as well,” he retorts. The hand on his leg gives him a gentle warning squeeze, but Spike's smile never falters. When the waiter comes back to the table, Spike plucks the menu out of Wesley's hand and orders for them in flawless French. Not that he should be surprised - his lover did grow up in the Victorian era, after all. French was pretty much compulsory for a gentleman, and while Spike might not look or act the part anymore, Wesley's done enough reading to know the truth about what he used to be.

His hand slips down under the table to cover Spike's, and he shifts to look into those beautiful blue eyes. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I really do appreciate this.”

Spike nods. “Glad you like it, then.” Wineglasses appear on the table almost as if by magic, and he reaches out to claim one, waiting for Wesley to pick the other up before he takes a sip, studying his lover over the rim of the glass. “You look so pretty tonight, baby.”

The caressing tone shoots right to his groin and Wesley swallows hard, then sets his glass down. Spike only ever calls him baby when he wants to play games, and while he's never done it in public before, Wesley knows there's only one acceptable response.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he murmurs, feeling his cheeks heat under the eyes that stare hotly at him. He takes another sip of wine, trying to pretend he isn't getting hard right there at the table, but Spike flexes his hand, fingertips brushing against his growing length, and he nearly chokes instead.

Spike plucks the glass from his hand and pats his back. “Sorry, baby. Daddy didn't mean to do that to you. Just look so pretty I had to touch, yeah?”

Oh, God. Wesley knows he should protest, should beg to stop the game until they can go home, but he can't seem to form the words, just nods instead. Spike smiles, kisses his cheek and whispers, “Can tell you're gettin' hard, luv. An' you know what that does, don't you? Makes Daddy wanna do all sorts of nasty things to you, d'you know that?”

“Spike,” he breathes, “Please...” But whatever he was going to say is lost when a finger trails slowly up the length of his straining cock, teasing him through the cloth.

“Hope you aren't plannin' on sayin' what I think you were, “the vampire warns him, his hand shifting until it cups him and squeezes lightly. “Whose is this, pet?”

Wesley bites his lip. “Yours, Daddy.” His voice is so soft, so small that only his lover can hear him, but the unmistakable dirtiness of saying it where anybody could happen by settles heavily inside, lodging deep at the pit of his stomach in the darkest way.

His words are met with an approving nod. “Damn right it is. An' if Daddy wants to play with his boy, then you'll sit an' take it like the good little whore you are, won't you?”

Any response he might've given is cut off by the waiter's return with their appetizers. Thankfully, Spike seems more interested in the foie gras than tormenting his lover, because he squeezes him once more and then withdraws. Wesley gives silent thanks for Spike's love of human food and concentrates on his escargot, hoping desperately that he can manage to get his erection under control before they have to leave.

Dinner arrives after the salad course, and that's when his luck runs out. He doesn't know how Spike managed to unbutton and unzip his pants without him noticing, but he does't care because he's too busy trying not to spit out his first bite when a hand closes around his bare cock. “Didn't wear anythin' underneath,” Spike purrs. “Such a good boy, makin' sure Daddy has easy access.”

He drains half his wine in three swallows. “You told me not to,” he states quietly. “But I didn't know you'd -”

“That's why I'm the Daddy, ain't it? An' you're the greedy little boy who'll take whatever he can get anywhere I tell him to.” Spike's thumb circles the tip of his dick, spreading the wetness out over his skin. “Aren't you?”

“Yes, Daddy.” The words are a faint whisper, but he can't make any real sound. If he tries to talk right now he'll moan.

Spike seems to recognize his predicament, because his eyes glitter as he pets him. “Eat your supper, sweetheart. Got plans for you later.” He drains his wineglass and signals for a refill, waiting until the waiter leaves before he continues, his voice as low and calm as though they were discussing the stock market. “Daddy's gonna fuck his baby boy tonight. Take you out to the car when we're done here an' let you suck me off in the parking lot, then make you stroke for me while we drive home. You like the thought of that, baby? Wanna wrap your mouth around me, drink me down right where anybody can walk by?”

Oh, hell, yes, he liked it! Wesley's nod is jerky and he somehow manages to get a bite of food in his mouth, hoping the faint moan that escapes will be attributed to the duck instead of the hand on his dick that's starting to threaten his sanity. It really is excellent, tender enough to melt on his tongue, but it could be coated with sawdust and he doesn't think he'd complain. Not when Spike tightens his grip and twists his wrist like that.

“Come so hard in your mouth an' you'll swallow every bit of it, won't you? Yeah, you will. Then I'm gonna make you strip, get to watch you wank on the drive. Gonna make you get yourself ready for me, stretch that pretty little hole so it'll take Daddy's cock right away when we get home,” Spike murmurs, smiling as a spurt of precome wets his fingers. “Oh yeah, you like that, don't you? Want Daddy's cock, want Daddy fuckin' you til you scream. Such a pretty little slut, so nice an' hard for Daddy. You'd do whatever I asked right now, wouldn't you? Let me bend you over the table an' fuck you right here an' now if I wanted to. Put your napkin in your lap, pet.”

Wesley drops the cloth down and bites his tongue when it's immediately spread over him, the linen rubbing over his dick in an exquisite torture. His shaft twitches as more precome streams out, electric jolts of pleasure dancing over his skin in a way that makes him clench his fork so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Daddy,” he whispers, the word both plea and praise. Spike's unraveling him where he sits, and all the rules of propriety that have been drummed into his head since birth are falling farther away with each slide of Spike's hand.

“Look at you, all hard an' needy right here in the restaurant. Everybody around us an' you just can't control yourself, can you?” His hand starts moving a little faster, slickly stroking him, and Wesley could swear he hears the sound, loud enough to drown out every other noise in the place. “Can you imagine if they turned around an' looked? D'you think they'd know about what a bad boy you are, sittin' there eatin' your dinner with your cock stickin' out of your pants?”

He forces a few more bites of food down and stares blindly at the candles on the table, the flickering light blurring as he fights to keep his eyes open. It's a losing battle, this struggle to stay still and quiet, and Spike knows it, because he whispers, “Such a pretty baby. Wish you could moan for me, pet. Love hearin' you beg for it. An' you need it, don't you? Need Daddy's hand wrapped around you, Daddy's cock slidin' up inside you, so hard an' thick...”

“Please, Daddy!” He has to come, doesn't know how much longer he can hold out against the hand that's sliding so sweetly over his cock. When Spike just stares at him, he begs softly, “Daddy, please, I need -”

“Need to come, is that it?” Wesley nods frantically and Spike smiles. “Daddy's boy's a slut, isn't he? Can't even make it through dinner without needin' Daddy to get him off.”

He shifts in his seat, uttering a strangled moan when the movement thrusts his dick up into Spike's hand. The wet, exposed tip rubs against the napkin in a slow drag and just when he thinks he's going to scream, Spike whispers, “Come for Daddy, baby boy,” and leans in to kiss him.

Their lips meet in a soft, tender kiss that makes people around them smile, but Wesley's too focused on the hand that tightens on his dick to notice or care. His eyes widen, and Spike deepens the kiss just as the first hot burst of semen shoots out into the napkin. Spike's tongue sweeps across his lips and Wesley opens for him, groaning into the mouth that settles over his to swallow the sound.

He comes in long, drawn-out spurts, every last drop milked out of him by the vampire's talented fingers, and he doesn't care anymore who might've seen it. Nobody's standing at the table when he gets enough control of himself to look away from Spike, so he figures it couldn't have been that obvious. Spike steals the last bite of duck from his plate, swirls it in the sauce and pops it in his mouth. “Ready to go, baby?”

Wesley nods, hoping his legs will hold him up long enough to get to the car. “Yes, Daddy.” He starts to push his chair back, then hesitates, but a glance at his lap shows nothing untoward. Spike must have taken care of it, although whether it was from a desire to avoid embarrassing him or the simple fact that noody but Spike was allowed to see his cock, he couldn't say.

The vampire nods and dabs at his mouth with his napkin, tongue darting out to lick one of the dark stains on the cloth. It takes Wesley a minute to realize what they are, and when he does, he has to bite back another moan. Spike tosses a few bills on the table and stands up, then holds his hand out for Wesley. “C'mon, sweetheart. Daddy wants his baby boy to ride him all night long.”

Wesley adjusts himself quickly and grabs his hand, allowing his lover to pull him out to the parking lot for the promised blow job, already looking forward to the long drive home. Spike might not be overly fond of going out, but when he does, he certainly makes the night worth it.


End file.
